The Making of a Mage King: White Star (23 page)

At first Laon had stood aside to be his bodyguard, but as Sean toyed with the idea of using the whipping post as a target, he remembered what he had seen Laon try to do the day he had taken the boy, Kendal, flying over the camp. Now was as good a time as any; he pulled Laon over and pared him off with the heavy post.

“You’re not here to chop the post down, so don’t. What I want you to do is use all your strength and speed, see how close you can get, but without touching it. Now, follow what I do.” Sean took him through the simplest set he knew, reminding him from time to time that the post was
not
there to stop his sword. After he felt that Laon had a handle on the kind of control he wanted, he moved him away from the post with the admonishment that the post was still there, but only in his head this time.

The distraction was welcome for Sean, but it was definitely not a distraction for Laon, who was grimly determined to learn this form of practice.

Watching him, Sean remembered his own first days like this. It had seemed pointless and frustrating to pull his strike at the last second, and only at the
very
last second. It wasn’t until much later that he learned the value of such control, then later still that he could enjoy the solitary workouts he currently used whenever he had the chance.

By the time the sun started to light the sky, Laon was wrung of everything he could manage for his first lesson. Sean then drew his second sword and went ahead with his own workout. He was well into it when men began to show up for their formation.

Sean purposefully continued, switching to the most complicated set he knew. The teacher he had learned it from had been a wide-shouldered man with straight, black hair that hung lank and stringy, but he knew how to use two swords and seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, especially when his hair obscured the two he did have in the front of his head. In an effort to outdo this long-dead teacher from another life, Sean made additions, and while the men gathered, he pitted himself against the impossible. In his mind, the old master became a hundred. In his mind, his battle raged while soldiers, hushed by the spectacle, assembled.

Sean’s display made them
see
the death at the end of his swords. They saw the destruction within his reach. They all knew that even the very best among them wouldn’t last but moments against that onslaught. Men of the sword would follow a leader who understood the sword, even if he was not the man who would be leading their charge into battle. They would follow him because they knew that he was fully aware of what he sent them into. They would follow him because they knew that if they didn’t, he would go alone, and if he did that, they would be lost and leaderless. They would go where he said because they knew they could not afford to lose such a king.

When his battle was won, he froze for a moment over his last kill, then he straightened slowly, sheathed his swords and brushed the sweat from his eyes with his palm. Just then a man appeared with a small cloth and a flask of water. After only a moment’s hesitation, he used the cloth to mop the rest of his sweat, then downed the water with a quiet “thanks.” The residue of the battle still gripped him and he used the incongruous chain of events to further remove himself from it.

Elias, Gérard and Ramire stepped up beside him, and Sean noticed everyone’s pink noses and foggy breaths as the rest of the men shuffled into order; here he was sweating and still a little jumpy, and everyone else was feeling the chill morning.

“That was impressive,” said Elias. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one before.”

“It’s complicated,” said Sean. “I seldom have the time for it.” He took a deep breath, trying to clear some of the adrenaline from his blood.

Ramire had no comment. He couldn’t find the words to describe what he had just witnessed; ‘impressive’ didn’t seem to cover it. Gérard just watched him, his reaction hidden behind a face that had been forced to hide so much for so many years.

When each of the company commanders had called their units to attention and stood-to themselves, Ramire announced the new standing in the realm. “Here before you is your rightful king, Seanad Éireann Barleduc-Ruhin, the White Star. He is the grandson of our beloved King Lardeain, son of Crown Prince Deain.” He took a knee and drew his sword by ejecting it forward a few inches with his thumb and then drawing it the rest of the way by its blade. He then offered it to Sean, saying, “My sword is yours to command.”

Sean took the sword and lifted the man’s head with its tip. As soon as Ramire’s eyes rose from the ground, Sean nodded for him to stand. When Ramire was once again facing him, he slid the sword home in its sheath, then placed a hand on the man’s breast above his heart. “Then I will command the heart behind it.” When he removed his hand, he left behind his emblem for everyone to see.

Ramire then led them through the ranks, where each man followed the example of the general and knelt, giving some personal vow of loyalty.

Nearly three thousand men, officers, servants, and staff turned out for the ceremony and they all vowed their loyalty. It was a very long day.

Over a late supper of more thin stew, Sean authorized Ramire to resume business as usual. He needed peacekeepers in the land as much as he needed the old royalty in command of each district. He also charged the old man with finding said family if any of it remained; the purge had been especially thorough here since he’d had the manpower to conduct an extensive search, much to his regret, but now that they all displayed the White Star, they might run up against less resistance.

Sean also left him with enough gold and silver to buy supplies from the outlying villages and farms. Then he suggested that he encourage people, possibly family members, to come and farm the land here as well as run a herd of horses for breeding and a herd of cattle for eating, among other things. Just as a person might be less inclined to throw trash on the ground if he was the one to be picking it up every day, an army that at least
tried
to support itself wasn’t nearly so inclined toward wastefulness.

Sean spent the day after his departure from Ramire’s fortress searching for the capital city of Lorraine. He didn’t have much trouble finding that, but the Barleduc estate was much closer, or at least it was supposed to be, and for the life of him, he couldn’t find it.

“Dad,” he said, coming out of his tent for lunch. “Do you know where the Barleduc holding is, or where it was? Isn’t that where my mother was from?”

“Yes, the Barleduc family has been prominent in the Lorraine province for several generations. They are among the oldest families in the country, but if Ludwyn’s purge was at all successful, they would have gone into hiding like many others, and their hiding place could be warded like Marinda’s farm was. If I knew where we were here, I could probably point you directly to them; the family holdings weren’t too far from the western border of the district, but I’m lost here and it’s been so long, I don’t recognize any of the landmarks.”

Sean returned to his map after eating, and the afternoon was half gone when he finally gave up in frustration. He opened his eyes to find both Elias and Gérard waiting for him, watched over by Laon, who disappeared at Sean’s nod.

Sean raked his fingers through his hair. “I figured I’d look for something similar to my aunt’s place. I know I’d recognize it if I found it, and I found a few places like that, but none of them were right.” Sean began to pace.
There’s nothing for it; I don’t have time to comb the countryside for my mother’s family
. “I’ll just have to do it later. I need to get on to Allemands and locate the Lorraine family. Much as I would like to meet my own family…” he paused, Elias and Gérard both had an odd look on their faces. “What?”

“No one has called the city by its full name for centuries,” said Elias.

“Everyone just calls it Menz now,” added Gérard.

Sean stared at them for a moment. Inside his head it felt as if times and places reshuffled themselves. He shook himself. “Laon,” he called, “spread the word. We move in the morning.”

Once camp was safely nestled in a small valley a few miles from the city, Sean did much the same thing he had done at other cities; it seemed to work rather well. He allowed a rotating leave into the city and  he, Larry, Jenny, and this time Laon, Elias, and Gérard were the first to enter the city, and like before, Charles ghosted off into the underground to search out whatever he could find from that source. Unlike before, Sean couldn’t settle himself at a café and wait to see how things developed. He picked at a plate of food and sipped at his beer; his inability to find his family bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Finally, unable to sit any longer, he thrust himself away from the table. “Stay here,” he said mostly to Laon. “I can’t sit. I won’t be leaving the square.”

Leaving the others at a table with their lunch and a couple pitchers of beer, Sean paced through the market square. His glowering mood caused some people to avoid his path, and others to watch him warily.

Though the city supported a thriving market, it was nothing like other cities Sean had been through. The signs of fall were clearly visible; a lot of animals were on the market and the butcher house was busy. Grain by the fifty-pound sack was stacked high. Plenty of other things were changing hands, too, as people stocked up for the cold months. One thing that stood out was the salt seller who had his wagon parked at the edge of the square. Sean hadn’t noticed a salt seller before, then again he hadn’t spent much time shopping.
Salt must be harder to get here in the mountains.

Sean’s edgy mood soon attracted the attention of men who could only be the local peacekeepers. Though he had caused no trouble yet, they didn’t want any.

“Stay where you are, Laon,” Sean said in Laon’s ear, as he watched the men approach. “For the life of us all, stay where you are.”

“You looking for trouble, mister?” asked one of the men.

“No, I’m not,” replied Sean.

“We don’t agree,” said another of the men.

“We think you’re looking for a fight,” said yet another.

Sean’s hackles rose irresistibly. “What’s it to you if I am, as long as I don’t?”
It would feel good to fight someone just now, but I can’t pick just anyone.
He toyed with the idea of drawing his sword and fighting these men, but all they had were short clubs. Deadly enough, but against a long sword, little contest; it wasn’t fair. Even three against one, he didn’t think he would break a sweat.

“You can either leave the city or come with us,” said the third speaker.

“I’ll leave when I’ve found who I’m looking for,” said Sean, his voice hardening.
I need to get a grip on myself; pissing these men off is highly unproductive.

“Who’re you looking for then?” asked the first speaker.

“I’m looking for my mother’s family; you wouldn’t know them by chance, would you? The name is Barleduc.” That’s not who he was looking for, but that’s what came out of his mouth.

After a pause the first man said, “You are a liar, sir. The Barleduc family was wiped out upwards of sixteen years ago. Come with us.” He took Sean’s elbow.

Stunned, Sean tried to grasp the information that had just been dropped on him. His mood evaporated, his plans forgotten.
My mother’s family, killed; ‘wiped out’ the man had said. Men had been looking for my pregnant mother to make sure I was never born. How many died because they didn’t know where she was?

Other hands were on him now, but he hardly noticed. They were walking. People moved from their path. His sword belt came away.

My mother’s family is dead.
Scenes started to flood behind his eyes. Sean couldn’t shake the picture of a family that resembled Armelle’s family. A family full of aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, a grandmother, a grandfather, more, ranging in age from a whimpering infant with soft black curls to a gray-haired oldster with dark brown eyes, all dead, all lying bloody on a polished, hardwood floor as the manor house burned down around them.

He was still reeling from that horror when he was led into a room. Under other circumstances he might have sat there for the day, long enough to cool down, then be sent on his way. But there, in the middle of the floor was a chair—
where was the knife?
In the corner was a cot—
the blood is gone.
Against the wall to his left was a small table—
that table…
Behind him to his right, he knew there would be a clothes cupboard—
empty?
The curtain over the tiny window fluttered out with the breeze. “NO!” He couldn’t go into that room again; he couldn’t face…that again. Sean exploded, and at least one man went down before something crashed into the side of his head, sending him into blackness with a shower of sparks.

Sean woke with a start and a groan to pitch darkness, and a voice.

“Easy kid,” said the voice, from only a couple feet away. “You’re a sight, or you were when they brought you in. I’d be surprised if you don’t have some broken bones.”